Transcendental
by YanaiharaMayumi
Summary: A carefree, daredevil playboy with a tortured soul. A shy, traumatized artist with a past. This is a story of two broken people healing each other, overcoming the past and looking towards a brighter future. AU. College.
1. Chapter 1: Encounter

Transcendental

A carefree, daredevil playboy with a tortured soul. A shy, traumatized artist with a past. This is a story of two broken people healing each other, overcoming the past and looking towards a brighter future.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello, Mayumi here. So, I'm just going to make this short, thank you for reading my work and I am very excited to see how much this story will grow since it is my first time. This story is inspired by one of my favorite dramas and I do hope you enjoy reading this.

Warning: Some out of character-ness. Mild language.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans or any DC Comics based materials.

* * *

Transcend(ental): to overcome or surpass something (a goal, an experience, etc.) beyond ordinary limits

Chapter 1: Encounter

It was a sunny, but chilly day in Jump City. Parents took advantage of this Sunday sunshine, despite the cold temperature, to take their children out to the park and play. Screams and giggles could be heard throughout the park as the scarf-wrapped children happily played with each other, playing tag in between the colorful jungle gyms.

As smiling parents silently watched their children and listened to their loud squeals, a young red-headed woman sat on a dark brown, cherry bench under an old tree with thin brown tendrils hanging from its branches. She was heavily clothed with a gray coat, a white turtleneck sweater underneath, dark blue jeans, and worn out black sneakers; her clothes complimented her light creamy tan skin. She had her bangs side-swept and her auburn hair was naturally curled to the tips and landed above her waist. Her hair was tossed over her right shoulder, so it did not fall all over her face, and she held a beige wooden pencil, scratching on her sketch-pad as she was drawing a rough and shaded sketch of a mother holding her infant son, tenderly and protectively in her arms, near her chest.

Her concentration was broken as someone cleared their throat loudly. She looked up, her bright, forest green eyes slightly wide and her maroon eyebrows knitted together, scared and unsure of how to approach this man with flawless white skin, a red sports jacket that had sponsor logos splattered all over, a gray wooly scarf, dark denim jeans, and black Nikes. He cleared his throat again, softly this time.

"Um, excuse me," he started, his voice youthful, clear, deep, and smooth like velvet and silk. "There's a hospital nearby, with a rehab center, and I think it's called –," the young man suddenly paused, leaving his sentence hanging. His eyes blinked behind his shades, this went unnoticed by the girl, and shook his head swiftly, his semi-long black hair, which ended at the tip of his ears and the tip of his spine beneath his neck, slightly swishing. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair and muttered to himself, "What was it called again?" After a moment's pause, he chuckled, "I'm sorry. Please wait for a minute . . ."

He repeated the question to himself, in hopes of remembering the name, a couple more times. Meanwhile, the young woman nervously scribbled something on her sketch pad. "Wow, I can't believe I forgot," he exasperated to himself incredulously, chuckling. The young woman hastily ripped the piece of paper and shoved it into his pale hands.

"Huh? What's this?" he asked, surprised and confused while looking at the ripped paper she gave him. "Ah, Sequoia Medical Center! That's right!" he looked up and saw her quickly pack her things, slinging her black messenger bag over her shoulder and ran past him. "Hey! Wait!" he called, but the girl did not turn back and kept running.

She kept running, crossing an empty street. Her hair blowing against the rush chill of wind, she clutched her messenger bag, and her feet crunched against fallen autumn leaves as she headed for her home of an apartment. She took quick steps up the stairs and fumbled with her keys as she opened her apartment door at the fourth floor of the five level building. She slammed it shut and pressed her back against the door, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

As her breathing calmed into a normal pace, she double-locked the door. She took off her shoes, hung her coat on the standing racket beside the door, and walked down the narrow hallway of the small apartment. She opened the door of her small bedroom, it held a bed good for a single person at the corner, a desk with drawers, and a mug of pens and pencils, a tiny closet for her clothes, and a window that had the view of the park and the entrance of the apartment building below. Her room had soft, white carpeted floor and pale yellow walls, the walls were pinned with her drawings, paintings and other artworks.

She dropped her bag at the side of her desk and changed into a gray t-shirt, comfy black sweatpants, and kept her white socks on. She took out her current novel, tied her hair up in a ponytail, and went out to the kitchen to cook dinner.

As she went down the narrow hallway again, the door knob of the apartment wobbled. She stopped walking and stared as the door opened slowly.

Fear struck all over her body and she was frozen.

Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

She thought she saw the arm and hand of a man opening the door. She closed her eyes tightly, then snapped them open.

"Kori?" a red-headed woman called out.

A woman who was her mother.

"I'm home," her mother, Luan Anders, stated. She raised her head and looked at her daughter, "What's the matter?"

Kori slowly lowered her head to look at her toes, inwardly feeling relieved but her face did not show it, while her mother continued to speak, "I was downstairs and I saw you running home in a hurry. Is something wrong?" Her mother looked at Kori in concern. She licked her lips and answered her mother quietly, "I saw someone I didn't like at the park."

Her mother hung her black coat and white scarf on the racket, revealing a thick blue sweater and black pants. Luan had her red hair in a tight bun and her blue, almost violet shaded, eyes were filled with worry for her now only child. "Who was it?"

Kori leaned against the wall, biting her lip and answered softly, "He goes to my school." She paused, looking down again, "He's just some jerk."

Her mother ran to her, placing both of her hands on Kori's shoulders, "Did he do something to you?"

"He . . ." Kori started hesitantly, her eyebrows knitting together. "He asked me for directions."

Her mother sighed in relief, her hands sliding off her daughter's shoulders, "He just asked you for directions. What is there to be upset about?"

"Because . . . I don't like him," Kori replied in her ever quiet voice and turned her back towards her mother to walk to the kitchen to cook dinner.

Luan looked at her daughter's back. Her violet eyes filled with concern, worry . . . and guilt.

* * *

Sequoia Medical Center is well-known in Jump City. Although it is small and hard to find, this hospital has the best surgery methods in the west coast. Inside the surgery department, was a blond man with a hairy chin sitting on a wheel chair. "Good thing I bought this stuff first when I got to Italy," the man chuckled heartily, his green eyes filled with amusement as he took out the bottles and bottles of wine from a black duffle bag. "Otherwise . . . Well, I don't know!"

The young man who asked for directions sat on a lounge chair in the hospital bedroom, smiling as he watched his father figure and dear friend that goes by the name Oliver Queen.

Oliver took out a paper bag and peeked inside it, taking it out, he waved it at the young lad and teased, "Is this the hand-made spaghetti you mentioned, Mr. Richard Grayson?"

Richard chuckled and took of his shades, revealing baby blue eyes like the sky on a cloudless day. He hid an amused smile, "Yeah."

Oliver handed it to him and noted, "They're dehydrated." He then took out a large circular chunk and inhaled it, "This is very pungent. Very stinky." He handed Richard the circular chunk of cheese, "Smell it."

Richard inhaled the scent and scrunched his nose slightly while Oliver babbled on, "But people say the stinkier it is, the better it tastes." He looked at the bottle of wine on the bed, "There should be a couple of glasses somewhere in this room."

As Oliver wheeled his chair out from behind the hospital bed, something caught Richard's eye. He stared at the amputated right leg that was wrapped with white bandages. He kept staring at it as Oliver found a couple of glasses near the door.

"What was your feeling?" Richard asked absently, still staring.

"Uh . . . when I made the turn, it felt like my whole body skid," he paused, and then continued, "I actually don't remember."

Richard pressed on, "What I meant was your leg." He broke eye contact from the leg and looked up to ask him, "Is it really gone?"

Oliver hesitated, and then chuckled sadly and humorlessly, "I had no choice." He turned to face Richard, "The doctors said if I didn't amputate my leg, I might run the risk of losing my life."

He stared at him, silent, feeling sad for his friend. In an attempt to lighten the mood, Oliver chuckled, "Now stop looking at me like that! They said they would get me a new one soon." Richard successfully attempted a small smile.

Oliver held three glasses, he handed one to Richard. Setting the two glasses on the bed, Oliver took a bottle and gave it to him, "This one is for you. As for this other bottle, we'll finish it secretly," he mock whispered then turned his head towards the door that was now opening, "Ah! Here comes the bottle opener!"

A blonde woman entered, holding a paper bag, with groceries and the bottle opener hidden inside, and a bouquet of flowers. The woman had straight, long straw-colored hair with short bangs and wore a black leather jacket zipped up, a modest black skirt, and fishnet stockings. Her blue eyes landed on her husband and teased, "Are you sure you're allowed to drink now?"

"Dinah," Oliver groaned. "It's okay." He held up a bottle and winked at Richard, then looked at his wife, "This isn't wine. This is Italian Olive Oil. Have you ever seen a motorcycle run without oil? Isn't that so, Dick?"

Richard simply laughed while Dinah rolled her eyes, "Okay, okay. Do whatever you want." She looked at Richard and went around the bed to drop the bag of groceries, "Now that you're here, somebody starts laughing. This morning Ollie urged me to call you for directions. But then I remembered you don't have a cellphone so I couldn't call you. He's been picking on me and getting angry at me since then."

"No, I wasn't," Oliver grumbled.

Dinah ignored him, "Was the hospital hard to find?" she asked Richard.

"I was just gonna talk about that," Richard stood up, went towards her, and leaned against the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why on earth did you stay in a hospital that is so hard to find? Luckily, someone drew me a map." He took out the paper the girl shoved into him from his back pocket.

Dinah stopped what she was doing and leaned down, "Hey, there's a drawing at the back." She grabbed it from his hands and inspected it, "Very unusual." She noticed it was crumpled then lightly smacked Richard at the side of his head, there was a mutter of 'Ow, what was that for?' while Dinah scolded him, "Look what you did! You crumpled it!" She turned her back to return fixing the groceries and teased, "So careless just like Ollie," and gave the crumpled and folded drawing back to Richard.

"I heard that," Oliver grumbled again.

Richard flipped the paper to look at the drawing. The world seemed to stop around him. His blue eyes softened as he saw the mother and infant drawing. Emotions flitted across his face; reminiscence, sadness, grief, happiness, and then . . . love. The tenderness and love displayed itself in the drawing. It was simple. Beautiful. Innocent.

A charming smile slowly made its way on his handsome face.

* * *

"Thank you," Richard smiled at the nurse who carted Oliver with his wheelchair outside for some fresh air. The sun was still out, but the chill subsided, it was warm, and there was a very light breeze.

"Let's stop here. Don't trouble yourself more," he suggested to the nurse, who smiled politely back with a nod.

Oliver grinned and handed Richard the good he bought from Italy, "Remember to stop by when you're free and have a drink with me."

"Thanks, and get a lot of rest when you've got time," Richard placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder, a gesture that said 'Take it easy, buddy,' and held the paper bag with his other arm. "I'll come visit again soon. See you, Ollie," he gave a two finger salute and a grin. He slipped on his shades and turned around.

"Hey Dick!" Oliver called. "I forgot to give you something," he inspected something in his palm. "Think fast," he threw him a key. Richard looked at him in shock and surprise. Oliver smiled widely, although there was a sadness and sacrifice in his green eyes, "You're in charge of it now."

Richard still stood there, speechless.

"You know where it's parked, don't you?" Oliver laughed.

"You're giving me the bike?" he shouted.

Oliver shrugged back in reply, "Anyways, I won't be able to use it anymore. It's useless to me."

Richard looked at the key between his fingers. He pursed his lips, pain striking in his heart as he heard those words from Oliver, "Is there really no chance of seeing you ride a bike again?"

"At least I'm still alive," Olive smiled sadly. "Please take good care of it, Dick . . . alright?"

Richard breathed deeply and nodded, bobbing his head up and down, "Okay, I promise, Ollie." He turned his back and walked away.

* * *

The engine purred like a delicate kitten.

The silver color shined by the sunlight.

The wheels narrow and smooth against the road.

Richard rode the bike faster, its engine purring loudly. He grinned beneath the matching silver helmet he wore and sped off to the setting horizon.

* * *

Night fell in Jump City. The neighborhood in which Kori lived was quiet, silent. There was a bark of a dog every few minutes and a couple of crickets, but other than that, not a single person or an active vehicle was in sight.

The buzzing sound of a television with no signal filled Kori's living room. She laid on the couch, accidentally falling asleep and a novel was held within her fingers.

The door knob started shaking.

Her eyebrows furrower as the fumbled noise started getting louder. Her eyes opened slightly and slowly straightened her back.

There was a click, indicating that the lock was successfully picked. Then the door started opening slowly.

There was a hand of a man opening the door.

Kori's eyes widened, staring at the door as it opened wider, revealing a man in a white dress shirt and a green tie.

She quickly stood up.

The door was closed.

And still properly locked. Untouched.

She stared at the door once more. A mountain was in her throat as tears threatened to spill over her eyes. She could not hold it any longer and she opened the flood gates. Kori sobbed quietly, placing a hand on her mouth, in hopes that her mother does not wake up and worry. She sniffled, turning off the television, she gathered up her things, and headed to her room, crying herself to sleep.

* * *

Jump City Community College.

A young blonde man sprinted through the college's outdoor walkway. He was wearing a green collared shirt over black long sleeves, dark blue track pants, and green sneakers. He clutched his messenger bag and a brown paper bag that held his breakfast and called out while running, "Gotham students are coming this afternoon to play basketball! Three o'clock by the courts!"

"Yeah, we'll see you there! Just don't be too crazy on the first day of school, Gar!" one of them called back.

Garfield Logan kept jogging, and then slowed down into a stop, staring at the red-headed girl who held his interest. He watched as the mysterious Kori Anders shied away from a boy handing her a blue flyer and walked straight, her back towards him. His dark green eyes focused on her auburn curly hair that cascaded down her mustard yellow long-sleeve shirt, stretching to her knuckles, and dark blue jeans. He caught a hint of her beige scarf swaying as she walked.

There was a roar of an engine from a distance.

Gar turned his head, paused, and then walked to the other side of the walkway. The engine purred louder as it was getting nearer. Walking students dispersed to the sides as the motorcycle emerged at the middle. He spotted the driver on the sleek silver bike and saw the familiar red sports jacket.

"Dick? . . . Dick! Why are you-," Gar's question was cut short as Richard drove past him, grabbing the small brown paper bag. "Hey! That's my breakfast!" Gar yelled after him.

Richard drove around one of the buildings and parked his bike on the appropriate parking space for motorcycles. He took off his helmet, revealing the same black shades, and shook his messy black hair that was slightly spiked. He grinned as he locked his bike on one of the stands. He heard someone panting loudly, turning around he smirked as he saw a cherry red-haired man, wearing an electric blue dress shirt, a red tie, and white pants, slowing down into a stop in front of him, trying to catch his breath.

"Oi!" the man panted.

"Hey, Mr. Mod," Richard greeted casually. "Why are you running so early in the morning?" He hid a smug smile as his teacher fixed his glasses and wiped the sweat of his forehead.

Mr. Mod breathed heavily for a few seconds then exasperated in his British accent, "You . . . I . . . Did . . . Did you know . . . know what your speed was?"

Richard chuckled and simply replied, "I didn't pay attention."

He was still panting as he said, ". . . I . . . I did! It was . . . at least . . . 120!"

"120?" Richard exclaimed in mock surprise. "It felt like 40 to me."

"I . . . I warn . . . you . . . Don't let me . . . catch you again . . ." Mr. Mod clutched his heart.

Richard was struggling not to laugh and he decided to torture and tease his favorite teacher a little bit more, "What can you do, Mr. Mod . . . Are you gonna put up a speed meter in school?" He chuckled, "I'd be embarrassed if all the pictures were me." He walked passed him and patted his shoulder, "See you later."

Mr. Mod was left in the parking lot, trying his best to not have a heart attack.

Richard walked through the school, holding the paper bag of food in one hand, munching on an apple with the other. He caught an eye of a brunette as she walked by in a blue miniskirt. He turned to stare at her derriere and raised his eyebrows before turning forward and walking straight to the bulletin board with the homeroom classes.

He stood in front of the board, looking for his name above the crowd of students.

"You don't need to look for yours."

He turned around and saw his best friend, Gar.

"We're in the same class," Gar said, then rolled his eyes. "How lucky am I?"

Richard grinned widely, "You are so out of luck."

They turned around to walk to their homeroom. Gar caught sight of his breakfast bag and snatched it from Richard, "Give that back to me," he peeked inside, and then shouted, "It's all gone! My apple, my veggie sandwich . . . Everything's gone!"

"I ate it," Richard said simply, then burped.

"You dick."

"I know."

Gar sighed, hopeless, "Why would you even keep the bag when it's empty?"

Richard laughed, "How could I fool you then?"

"Dickhead," Gar grumbled.

"I know," he replied again.

Gar sighed once more, crumpling the bag into a ball and shooting it near a bin and started walking up the flight of stairs, "That reminds me. Gotham peeps are coming this afternoon to bet on b-ball."

"How should we split it?"

"The usual, 6 – 4."

"6 – 4? Make it 7 – 3!"

"Come on, Dick! For the sake of gas money!"

"You bought a car?"

"You bought a bike?"

"It's a motorcycle- Wow," Richard said, leaning downward. "Nice pair of legs," he noted as a girl zipped up her black knee high boots on the stairs. "Those legs look familiar . . ."

The girl turned around, her short purple hair swishing. Her violet eyes settled on him and gave a flirty smile, "Dick!"

Richard immediately regretted looking at her and bowed his head low, he muttered to Gar, "It's Rachel Roth."

Rachel Roth walked beside them as they went up the stairs. She was a pretty, petite girl, a book worm and a beauty who loves dark poetry and dark colors. "What a coincidence. We're in the same class." She wore a dark purple leather jacket and a black pencil skirt. She hooked her arm around Richard's as they walked to class, "Dick, don't you feel like we're destined together? . . . Dick, why aren't you answering? . . ."

The three of them entered the classroom. Immediately, the students started to greet him, considering how popular he was, and Rachel pestering him with questions. "What have you been doing during the break? I called you but you never answered."

"Hey, Dick."

"What's up?"

"Yo, Richie!"

"Grayson."

Rachel firmly put a hand on Richard's shoulder, "Were you afraid the call was from Karen?" But Richard continued to ignore her and he pointed to two empty seats, "There're seats over there, Gar."

"Hey, it's only two seats," Rachel complained.

"You said you wanted to sit there, right, Gar?" Richard asked, desperate to not sit with Rachel.

Gar did not answer as Richard shoved him to the seats.

"6 – 4."

"No."

"Oh, Rachel-."

Richard glared at him, giving in, and Gar smothered a smug smile, knowing he got his 6 – 4. He sat on the third row while Gar sat behind him. He took out his English novel then scanned the room.

"Hey, Gar," Richard whispered as Gar leaned in, indicating that he was listening, "There's nothing to complain about the bodies of the girls in this class."

"It hasn't been 40 seconds since you came in and you've already done physical exams of all the female bodies in this room. You truly are gifted," Gar laughed. "Let me give you a sincere suggestion. Don't waste your talent. Transfer to a medical school."

There was a pause, then Richard answered in a thoughtful tone, "That doesn't sound bad."

Gar shook his head, smothering his laugh, "Don't take it too seriously."

Meanwhile, a girl who sat next to Richard tried to pack her things quickly and change her seat. Unfortunately, the teacher arrived with a stern and British-accented, "Class begins." The girl sat down and sighed quietly.

Mr. Mod entered the room, as soon as he does, his eyes landed on Richard who winked at him. He rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses, "Today is the first day of a new semester. This is a sophomore class, am I correct? I will be taking attendance unorderly due to the random schedule system . . . And Grayson, no shades.

Richard smirked and slipped them off. As Mr. Mod started calling random names, his blue eyes looked around the room, feeling bored and drumming his fingers on his desk.

His eyes settled on the girl sitting next to him. She had auburn hair that was behind her ears and flowed down her back. She was hunched on her desk, reading a novel. He looked at her face, and suddenly realized the familiarity.

"Hey!" he whispered, smiling. "Hey, it's me!" He called the girl, but she did not respond, ignoring him. "I asked you for directions. It turns out we go to the same school."

The exchange was noticed by Rachel, as she stopped mid-talk chatting with her friend.

"Kori Anders!" Mr. Mod yelled.

"Hey, what's your name?" Richard continued in a hushed tone. "Hey!"

"Kori Anders!" Mr. Mod yelled again.

"Here," Kori responded reluctantly, ignoring her seatmate. Mr. Mod looked annoyed as he continued the attendance.

Richard stared at her, saying her name, "Kori Anders . . . Kori. Anders."

"Yes, that's her name. Stop repeating it," Gar mumbled behind him.

Richard turned to look at him, "So, you know each other?" He decided to converse with her, lightly tapping her shoulder, "Kori," he rolled her name in his tongue. It was a unique name. "Don't you recognize me? I asked you for directions and you drew me a map? Remember?" He kept badgering her, pointing to himself, but she hunched closer to her book, shying away and ignoring him.

"Richard Grayson!" Mr. Mod called.

"You forgot about me? Why aren't you talking?"

"Richard Grayson!"

"Ding-dong," he started poking her lightly at her temple with his index finger. "Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong."

Mr. Mod grabbed a chalkboard eraser.

"Kori," Richard said, gently grabbing the back of her neck to face her to him. He stared at her forest green eyes as she stared at his sky blue eyes, "Why aren't you answering? I was asking you a question?" he asked softly.

"RICHARD GRAYSON!"

Richard looked up, and then quickly ducked his head as the eraser went straight at him. As he ducked, Mr. Mod had hit Gar instead. His blonde hair was white with chalk.

Mr. Mod cringed.

* * *

Author's Note: I would greatly appreciate reviews! If you have any questions or anything that you want to clarify at all, please feel free to message me. Thank you very much for reading, and I shall most likely be updating tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, for the next chapter. - Mayumi Y.


	2. Chapter 2: Redeemer

Transcendental

A carefree, daredevil playboy with a tortured soul. A shy, traumatized artist with a past. This is a story of two broken people healing each other, overcoming the past and looking towards a brighter future.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews - I'm Not A Princess, JewelFire3, AmandaLee31, and teentitansluver, I will not disappoint you! I am glad that you think that I had started off great, it gives me more motivation to do better and to keep updating. I am very excited to see where this story goes and your reactions to it, so happy reading, everyone. Enjoy! - Mayumi Y.

Warning: Out of character-ness. Mild language. Sexual themes.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Teen Titans, any DC Comics based materials, and Corona beer.

* * *

Transcend(ental): to overcome or surpass something (a goal, an experience, etc.) beyond ordinary limits

Chapter 2: Redeemer

Gar splashed some water on his face and hair, a towel around his neck. He and Richard ended up at the boy's bathroom after Mr. Mod's little accident. Richard leaned on the wall with an amused smile, "Why do you think Mod is so good at aiming? Maybe we should make him bet on basketball."

"Dickhead," Gar muttered, annoyed at his best friends antics. "He was out to get you!" he shouted, growling, splashing more water on his face as some chalk went in his eyes.

"Really?" Richard teased. "I thought he was reminding you not to sleep in class."

Gar straightened up, wiping the towel on his face, slung it over his left shoulder, "No. He was trying to stop you from stretching out your wanton, evil hand. You better not hit on girls in class." He looked at him seriously, "You might fail."

Richard shrugged carelessly, "There are many ways he can fail me. Hitting on girls makes no difference."

Gar proceeded to wash his face, then uttered softly, not looking at Richard in the eyes, "Anyways . . . you better give up on Kori."

Richard crossed his arms over his chest, curious, "How did you two get to know each other anyway?"

Gar wiped his face again, then licked his lips, choosing his words carefully, "I was in the same class as her in high school, so I know her well. She was weird," he ruffled his blonde hair. "She drew all day long and wouldn't talk to anyone. Moreover, she didn't like boys at all," he looked at Richard. "She acted as if some filthy thing touched her." He paused, and then thought about one example, "Once, there was a folk dance competition. I don't know what happened to her, but she wouldn't hold hands with any boy. So we had one extra boy, the whole class was almost not allowed to participate in the competition. Finally, I volunteered to withdraw from the competition and she still acts the same way."

"Is there something wrong with her?" Richard wondered out loud.

"Maybe she has men phobia?" Gar suggested, throwing a theory out.

Richard leaned in, wondering if he heard it right, "Phobia of what?"

Gar rolled his green eyes, "Phobia of men." He eyed Richard, "Especially like you. A walking sex organ." He threw the towel in the laundry bin and warned him, "You better not go near her."

Richard looked down at his organ and laughed at the irony, "My name isn't Dick for nothing."

* * *

"Can we have Miss Anders help read the following paragraph of translation?" the Spanish language teacher, Mr. Slade Wilson, suggested. His white hair was smoothed back with gel and he had a black patch on his right eye, leaving his left blue eye exposed.

Kori stood up slowly, gently picking up her notebook to read from it. Richard and Gar sat two rows behind her. With her head low and eyes glued to her paper, she began to read quietly and softly to herself.

The whole class started to groan. It was always like this when it was Kori's turn to read.

Rachel sighed in annoyance. She rolled her eyes and uttered loudly in a sing-song voice, "I can't hear!"

One of her friends, Tara Markov, sighed loudly as well, "Ugh! Could you please read louder?"

Another girl, Karen Beecher, joined in, "Did you eat your three meals on time?"

Richard and Gar looked at each other, feeling sorry for the poor girl.

"Hello? Miss Ant?" Rachel called haughtily.

"Miss Ant?" Tara raised an eyebrow, confused at what she just said.

"A. N. T. Ant, as in small, defenseless, and easy to crush," Rachel defined coldly.

The whole class 'oooooooh'ed. Richard looked at Rachel with a scowl.

Mr. Wilson walked up the theater steps towards Kori, "Alright, class. Let's not make a fuss. I'll change to another student." He walked up beside her and firmly placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly, "You may sit down now, Miss Anders," he purred.

Kori stiffened and stared at his hand as he pushed her down to her seat.

"How about you Miss Roth? You have a loud voice," Mr. Wilson suggested. "Stand up, and read."

Richard watched Slade and Kori intently. He saw that her posture stiffened under his touch, and Slade was a little too comfortable touching her shoulder.

"Okay," Rachel stood up and started reading the passage in Spanish.

Richard tore his eyes away from Kori and without a word he took Gar's notebook and ripped a page out of it. Gar protested, but he ignored him and started writing a note. As he finished, he crumpled it up and threw it near her desk. Kori noticed the piece of paper near her shoe, but she decided to ignore it as she hunched her back and concentrated on taking notes. He raised an eyebrow, wondering why she did not pick it up. He straightened his back and whispered, "Pst. Kori." The students around them started watching them in curiosity. "Hey, express mail. Hurry up. Take it and sign it." Kori glanced at him for a second, and then turned around to look at her book.

Gar noticed their exchange and narrowed his eyes at Richard.

Richard exhaled noisily through his nose and decided to take matters into his own hands. He picked up the crumpled paper and placed it gently on her desk. She stared at it for a few seconds, then slowly opened it with her fingers. Reading it aloud in her mind, the note wrote, "I have the mother and child drawing on the back of the map you drew."

Kori straightened her back and gasped loudly.

Richard's eyebrows shot up and he slightly flinched at her loud sound. Gar looked at her in surprise and every other student turned their eyes on her. Kori shrank in her seat, blushing furiously.

"Miss Anders?" Mr. Wilson turned around from the whiteboard. "Is there something wrong?"

Richard pressed his lips together, fighting a smile.

* * *

"Mixed Veggie and Pineapple Rice. Two orders, please," Gar ordered at the cafeteria chef.

"You have to wait a little for the Veggie-Pineapple Rice," the chef replied absently.

Gar fidgeted his feet, impatient, and nodded to the chef. His green eyes traveled to his table, where Richard and Kori were sitting face to face. Kori had her back hunched as she ate her food quietly, while Richard had his chin rested on his elbow as he had his arms flat and folded on the table.

"Hey," Richard started. "Did you draw the picture?"

Kori nodded silently, chewing her spaghetti, with her hair tied up into a ponytail.

"Who did you draw?" he interrogated further.

She did not respond, looking down at her food.

He scoffed. "If you still won't say anything, I might use my tongue to open up your mouth," he warned huskily.

She paused as her fork was about to enter her mouth. She settled it down on her plate and asked quietly, "Why didn't you throw it away?" She glanced at his eyes for a second, and then returned to her food.

"You're voice doesn't sound bad," he confessed with a charming smile, then he answered her question slowly. "Because . . . I'm interested in it."

She stared at him, gaining a little more confidence due to curiosity. She couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated in a thoughtful tone. "That's a good question . . . Because . . ." he left his sentence hanging.

"So . . . the answer is . . ." she waited patiently.

He looked at her food, deep in thought, then admitted, still with a smile on his face, "Because . . . it moved me . . . Because it reminds me of my mother . . . who I thought I had forgotten," his smile disappearing.

She stared at him again, watching as his blue eyes filled with sadness and then it disappeared as he started talking lightly again, "How about this, give me your cellphone number. We can go out to eat or do something we both will enjoy a great deal," he started chuckling to himself. Still chuckling, he said, "Ah, you stopped talking again. You really want me to use my tongue to open your mouth."

The fork she held dropped on her plate with a clang. She hastily stood up, gathered up her things, and hurriedly walked away without a glance or a word at him.

"Hey, Kori," Richard called, still laughing. "Why take it so seriously?" he looked at her retreating form, but made no move to follow her.

Gar looked back at the table, his back straightened up as he saw that Kori had disappeared. He exhaled noisily through his nose as the chef handed him the two plates of rice. "Here's your two plates of Veggie-Pineapple rice."

"Good timing," Gar retorted sarcastically and walked reluctantly to the table.

Across the cafeteria, Rachel had been watching the whole scene.

* * *

As his last class of the day ended, Gar stood up and ran out the door to make it to the courts. In the hallway, he spotted the familiar red hair up in a ponytail. He stopped running and stared at her walking as if she was alone in the world. He followed her, watching her with his green eyes filled with longing and acceptance. She walked down the stairs and stopped, feeling as if someone was watching her. She turned around and came to face him.

She recognized him, an acquaintance in high school.

Gar froze as she caught him. They stared at each other for a moment.

A student bumped his shoulder and Gar snapped out from their contact. Slightly blushing, he jogged down the stairs, leaving Kori to look at his back, wondering why he was following her. She continued to walk down the stairs but, again, stopped as she heard someone calling her name.

"Hey, Kori," she turned around and saw Richard, with his shades on and holding a basketball. "Are you going home?"

Kori ignored him as usual and jogged down the stairs.

"Hey!" he called and followed her, asking again, "Are you going home?"

She sighed quietly, knowing that he would not stop asking until she answered. "Not yet," she responded, not looking at him. "I'm on my way to the art studio."

"Art studio? I'm on my way to the basketball courts. It's on the way," he conversed happily, then nudged his elbow to her arm. "Are you a member of the art club?"

Kori stopped walking and stared at him, why on earth was he talking to her and being nice. Richard stared back and started to ask, "What-,"

"Dick," one of his friends, Isaiah Crockett, called. "Gotham peeps are here. Hurry up."

"Okay, I'll be right there," he replied to him and turned to Kori. He licked his lips and leaned in, whispering, "Do you have any money I could borrow?"

Without thinking, Kori took out her only money, which was twenty dollars, out of her pocket and handed him two five-dollar bills and a ten-dollar one. She answered quietly, "I only have this much."

Richard smiled and took it from her hands, "This is enough. Thanks, I'll definitely pay you back." He turned around and walked two steps, then paused and walked back to her with a mischievous smile, "And, uh . . . let me borrow this for a while," his fingers reached behind her tied up hair and gently took out the pink hair tie, letting her hair fall gracefully on her back. He smirked as he saw her stare at him and blushed.

"Dick, hurry up!" Isaiah shouted, impatient.

"I'm coming," Dick threw the ball at him and jogged towards his friend.

Kori stared at his retreating form, before heading to the art studio to clear her head.

* * *

She brushed her thumb on her black chalk drawing of a sculptured man. Kori focused her eyes on her drawing, her hand shading in the color. She shut out her surroundings, ignoring the conversations she could hear and the scratching of stroking pencils from her fellow artists. She had her long-sleeve shirt rolled up to her elbows and her scarf hung at a chair next to her. Since she did not have her hair tie, she settled with tucking her hair behind both of her ears and her hair flowed down her straightened up back.

Kori overheard two girls by the large, glass windows, chatting about boys.

"Look at those boys playing basketball," a voice with a foreign accent, who she recognized as Toni Monetti, whispered. "They are quite good looking. Especially that tall one with his hair tied." She squealed as quietly as she could through her black colored lips, "He's so cute, he's even using a pink hair tie."

Kori stopped drawing and turned her head to look at the girls.

One of them, who she recognized as Kole Weathers, shook her short, pink-dyed hair, "They're betting on basketball again. They can bet on anything when Dick and Gar are together."

Kori recalled him asking her some money and borrowing her hair tie. She focused her eyes back to her drawing and stroked her chalk harder on her canvas.

* * *

She heard the main door of the studio slam closed as the last artist left. Kori wanted to make some changes, so she decided to stay in a little bit more. A few minutes passed by and she felt content with the isolation, glad that she could concentrate now that she was by herself. No distractions, no noise, just silence.

Near the front door, somebody entered silently, closing it without a sound and locking it.

Kori heard footsteps and she looked up from her drawing, she stopped, a little surprised and asked hesitantly, "Mister Wilson. What are you doing here?"

Mr. Wilson smiled charmingly, his hands were folded behind his back, "It is nothing, Miss Anders." He started walking towards her slowly, in a predatory-like way, "Please, continue your drawing. I was just passing by, so I came down to take a look."

Kori stiffened and kept her eyes at her drawing. She felt him standing behind her back, admiring it, "You're very good at drawing. It looks exactly like the model."

And then, she felt his fingers in her hair.

She closed her eyes, hoping that the feeling would go away.

She felt his fingers grip her shoulders. She felt his cheek leaning into her hair, inhaling her rain-kissed leaves scent.

"Your hair," he whispered huskily. "Smells so good."

His hands slowly crept to her cheek, caressing it.

She held her pencil tightly, wishing she would have the courage to stab him.

His hands continued their creeping journey and headed south, beneath her clothes.

She snapped her eyes open as she felt his calloused, cold hands grope her breast.

Couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.

She was shell-shocked as that one memory returned to her. And she could not do anything. She felt weak. Vulnerable. Powerless.

A door slammed loudly.

Mr. Wilson's head snapped up, swiftly taking out his hand from under Kori's shirt. He came face-to-face with a no-shades Richard wearing a black fitted, collared shirt. Kori stared at him, her eyes giving off relief.

"Huh," Richard scoffed at what he found with his head tilted slightly. "When did you become a consultant to the art club . . . Slade?"

Mr. Wilson retorted, trying to act normal as if nothing happened, "What are you doing back here? Sneaking around?"

Richard scoffed once more, "Sneaking around? That's not it. I openly walked in." His blue eyes landed on Kori, who he noticed had relief lighting her eyes, but fear written across her face. He could see that her green eyes were watery. "Slade, you might want to know that the back door is open," he pointed to his back with his thumb. "And that door leads to the basketball courts."

Richard noticed Slade's Adam's apple was bobbing nervously, he swallowed and tried to keep his composure, "You are not in the art club, Mister Grayson. Now, I ask again, what are you doing here?" he folded his arms across his chest.

"So . . . if you're not in the art club, you can't come into the studio?" Richard questioned with a smile. It was not a happy smile, nor a sad one. "Okay then . . . I'll join the art club."

"You do not have talent for this club," Mr. Wilson retorted impatiently.

"You never know," Richard continued in a light tone, his eyes scanning on the paintings on the wall, "I might have an aspect people don't know about . . . Just like some considerate and nice Spanish teacher who sometimes sexually harasses his female student." He stated his last sentence coldly and looked at Slade in the eye.

Mr. Wilson snorted defensively, "Do not talk nonsense, child."

Richard chuckled, "Slade, don't be so eager to give in. I was just giving an example." Something caught his eye on a table. It was a cutter. He picked it up and stared at it. He then started to walk slowly towards them, pushing the blade up and down, creating a fast clicking noise in the silent studio.

"What do you think you are doing?"

He continued to walk, his blue eyes dark and brooding, "What do I think I am doing? . . ." He asked himself absently, stopping, and looked at the box cutter in his hands, "I'm not going to do anything," he said in no emotion. "I just want to . . . sharpen a pencil . . . How could I possible think of using it to cut off a teacher's gentle and honest face?" Again, he continued to walk towards them.

Mr. Wilson slowly backed away, while Kori still sat down, watching him, her eyes getting wider with each step he took. As Richard was inches away from Slade, she stood up sharply, her stool falling to the floor.

The clicking noise stopped.

Mr. Wilson stared at Richard. Without a word, he backed away and as soon as he reached the stairs, he ran.

And the two were alone.

Richard chuckled, "So quick to admitting defeat . . . it's really not fun," he threw the cutter aside carelessly and turned to look at Kori, who was trying to calm her breathing with wide eyes.

"You're really stupid," he told her. "You let him touch you for so long without asking for a lot of money."

Kori looked down, her lips pressed together, trying very hard not to break down in front of him.

"You don't like it," he continued, now feeling concerned. He heard her sniffle. "Don't be so timid if you don't like it. Cowardice is the most useless thing. Especially your expression, it would only make people want to do crueler things to you." He ended his speech, so as not to make the girl cry. He looked at the canvas in front of her and he changed into a happier mood, "Woah!" he touched the painting, inspecting it as a black smudge smothered on his index finger, "This is really done by drawing! Are you drawing that plaster statue?"

Kori nodded meekly as Richard walked to the sculpture.

He leaned down to read the description of the model, "M – A – R – S," he spelled the tag of the sculpture out loud. "Mars."

He turned to look at Kori, eyes filled with curiosity and interest, "Mars, as in the Planet?"

She shook her head and replied, her voice a little rough from what had just happened, "The Roman God of War."

"Was he the coward who the Greek say was bloodthirsty and belligerent, and yet was afraid of failure?" Richard conversed to her his knowledge about Mars. "Isn't he supposed to look mean and ferocious?"

Kori stared at him and decided to share her knowledge about Mars while her arms hung in front of her, her hands clasped together, "Indeed, he is the God of War. But I heard that Romans described him differently. They said Mars wore shining armor, look dignified. He was a dark hero, who helped people overcome tragedy."

Richard leaned in to observe Mars closer and whispered to himself, "A hero who overcame tragedy." After a few seconds, he turned around, a warm smile on his face, "Go home early . . . oh, and, I already doubled it," he reached for his pocket and took out a roll of money tied with her pink hair tie. He threw it at her.

Kori caught it and looked at the money. She raised her head and saw the back of his head, walking out of the studio.

* * *

Richard traveled to a liquor store, his hands in the pockets of his sports jacket, whistling a tune he had just made up. Taking a basket, he strolled his way down to the beer aisle and automatically grabbed two packs, each containing six bottles of Corona beer. Quietly smiling to himself, he made his way to the cashier, showing his legal identification card and paid in cash. As he was about to walk out the door, he stopped, slowly turning around and looked at the wall he just passed by.

It had a mirror.

Richard slowly walked in front of the mirror, staring at it for the longest time.

He could see no reflection.

He started hyperventilating. His eyes could not blink, could not turn away from the mirror. His hands started shaking, nearly dropping his bottles of beer. As he finally had the strength to close his eyes shut, he opened them again to face the mirror.

He saw himself.

Richard panted in relief, clutching his chest as the pain stroked through him. He stared at himself, looking into familiar green eyes.

His reflection was smiling.

But he himself was not.

So, he punched the mirror.

* * *

Author's Note: Please feel free to PM me for any questions or clarifications. This story is inspired by a drama called Mars, that is why the subject of Mars will be making some appearances. But, don't worry, it will now overshadow the plot. I have included some of the characters seen in the show, they will be in order of appearance throughout this chapter: Slade, Terra, Bumblebee, Hotspot, Argent, and Kole.

I want to clear up a few vocabulary words, in case some of you do not know what they mean:

Redeemer - a rescuer, a savior, someone who aids in a time of difficulty

Wanton - shameless, promiscuous (sexually active) [when Gar told Richard about his wanton hand, he was indicating that Richard is shameless for flirting and trying to pick up a girl at the middle of class]

Thank you very much for reading this chapter! I hope all of you are enjoying so far, I shall be updating in a few days due to the interference of my summer homework. Please review and tell me what you think, I enjoy reading your opinions. - Mayumi Y.


	3. Chapter 3: Promise

Transcendental

A carefree, daredevil playboy with a tortured soul. A shy, traumatized artist with a past. This is a story of two broken people healing each other, overcoming the past and looking towards a brighter future.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Once again, I thank you for the reviews; teentitansluver, I Am, and I'm Not A Princess, and to those who favored and followed. This fanfiction's little band of fans is growing bit by bit like a blooming flower. I really appreciate your time to read and review, so thank you very much!

There is one more thing I would like to mention: one of our fellow reviewers asked me this, "I thought Richards eyes are blue so why did his reflection have green eyes?" This question is indicating to the last scene of the chapter two. For those confused, I deliberately (purposely) written that his reflection has green eyes. I shall not explain more, you shall see later in the story.

Well, that is all, happy reading everyone. Enjoy! - Mayumi Y.

Warning: Out of character-ness. Mild language. A tiny blood scene.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, any DC Comics based materials, and Pepsi.

* * *

Transcend(ental): to overcome or surpass something (a goal, an experience, etc.) beyond ordinary limits

Chapter 3: Promise

Richard sat on the floor, his hair disarrayed from clutching his head with his fingers too much. Too much. Too much voices were in his head as he tried to forget those words that he can still so painfully hear.

"_After the matter is over, the images would not disappear completely due to the influence of reversed nerve connection. He will be afraid of looking at himself because of the consistent mood memory. The center of fear will cause him to develop more fear and anxiety. When he is in fear, he will enter the state of false death. Stop breathing. And his heart might even stop beating from functional effects. Because of reversed nerve connection, illusions will stay and he will choose to avoid remembering . . ."_

He was now sprawled across the floor, lying on his back, his right knuckle, bloody and bruised, dripped shamelessly on his red carpet. He stared at the ceiling, as memories he wanted to forget flooded in.

A spiral staircase. A woman with long dark hair, in a white dress, emerging from the shadows under a tree. A teenage boy with black hair as his, standing on the edge of a building.

Beside him, was a folded piece of paper. With his clean hand, he reached for it slowly and stared at it.

It was the drawing, of the mother and child.

* * *

Richard was jogging up the stairs as someone called his name.

"Grayson!" the boy caught up to him and slung an arm around his shoulder. With his other hand, he held it out for a shake. "Malcolm Duncan," said the chocolate skinned boy as he introduced himself with a grin. "New captain of the basketball team." Richard shook it as Malcolm continued to talk, "I saw you play yesterday against the Gotham kids, and I'll say, you're pretty good. You interested in joining the team?"

Malcolm had a friend beside him. Richard noticed it was Leonid Kovar as he pitched into the conversation with his Russian accent, "If you join, we win college cup."

Richard took off Malcolm's arm and replied, facing him, "Isn't that quite a waste of time?"

"Huh?" the two boys sounded, completely looking clueless.

He struggled to not roll his eyes. "Do we get paid if we win the championship?" he asked seriously.

"Of course not," Malcolm answered, slightly angered by his question.

Richard turned around and continued to jog, giving a hasty, "Then forget it."

Leonid punched Malcolm's arm, knowing he was right all along, "I tell you he was weird."

"Ain't he a little conceited?"

* * *

The art studio was quiet as students were concentrated on creating their own image of the plaster statue of Mars. Kori sat on her regular spot, at the corner of the room near the windows. Her bangs and her hair were messy and hurriedly tied up into a pony tail. She wore a decent dark green v-neck sweater with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a light peach pleated skirt that ended above her knees. Her fingers were smeared with black chalk as she revised her drawing.

Madame Rouge walked around the room, inspecting the students' progress, her red high heels clicking as she walked. Madame Rouge is a teacher that expects high expectations for any member of her art class. She is very passionate about the different forms of art, this is the reason why she is strict on criticizing. But she is, nonetheless, a very nice teacher outside the studio.

Richard strolled into the room, his unhidden blue eyes searching for a certain redhead. As soon as he spotted her, he grinned and whispered loudly, "Kori."

Kori's head whipped to the side and she saw Richard, grinning handsomely, wearing a thin white long-sleeve sweater underneath his open navy blue button up shirt. His shades dangled at one of the pockets of his shirt and she noticed a shiny wristband that reflected from the sunlight through the windows and the knuckles of one of his hands was wrapped in a white cloth.

"Kori Anders!" he whispered loudly once more.

She just stared at him as Madame Rouge happened to be beside her, observing her work. Richard smirked as he knew that she was not answering him because she did not want to get in trouble.

"Hey, sweet little teacher," Richard greeted teasingly. "Hello!"

Madame Rouge grimaced and she turned to Kori, sternly saying, "Kori, how did you get to know such a bad kid? Listen to your teacher. Stay away from him."

Kori lowered her head, flushing slightly, while Richard was just snickering at the background. Once Madame Rouge had walked away, Kori glanced at him once more.

"Come with me," he whispered, nodding his head in a direction. "At the back."

She bit her lip, peeking at Madame Rouge's back, then slowly stood up and walked to Richard's direction. He grinned happily as she followed him at the back. It was a hallway, leading to the basketball courts, filled with wooden easels, plaster statues for projects, and empty canvases. "There's so much stuff here," Richard commented in his regular voice, interested at the supplies that one person needs to be an artist.

"Sorry I interrupted you in your class," he apologized sincerely. "Oh, yeah," he reached at his backpack, unzipping it and pulled out a piece of paper that was neatly ironed, starched, and laminated. "I wanted to give this back to you."

Kori tenderly held it in her fingers, while Richard continued, "It was a little crumpled, but I've made a copy."

She smiled sweetly at him, "Thank you."

He looked at her in disbelief, shocked that she would be thanking him, he babbled onwards, "Y-You're thanking me? But, I messed up your drawing . . . Why thank me? Sorry, I just, I didn't know there was a drawing at the back, so I stuffed it in the pocket of my pants carelessly."

"It's okay," she assured, lifting her head up from her drawing to look at him. "It was only a draft. It's no use once I paint it on canvas."

Richard paused, staring at her then at the drawing, he whispered, "Useless meaning . . . you want to throw it away?"

Kori's eyebrows knitted together, wondering the change of his tone and attitude. She did not respond as he pressed on, "If you're going to throw it away . . . can you give it to me instead?"

Her heart softened. He liked the drawing. Smiling quietly at him, she suggested, "If you really like it, I can give you the final oil painting."

His reaction was priceless, the grin suddenly bursting at his face as he exclaimed happily, "Really?" He narrowed his eyes playfully, mockingly pointing an accusing finger, "You're not kidding me, right?"

She shook her head adorably and replied, instantly making his day, "I'll paint as fast as I can."

Richard was so happy, raising a hand to his head, "Yes!" He paused, then chuckled at her, "Wait, don't I act somewhat imprudent? I'm taking your stuff for no reason . . . now that I think it over, it really feels that way." He looked at her, her head bowed down again and eyes glued to her shoes. "I don't have money. What's there I can use for exchange?" He bit his lip, deep in thought.

The two of them stood awkwardly for a while, until Richard sounded a "Hey," which brought Kori's attention, waiting to see what he will 'exchange.' He smiled at her, "Why don't I protect you? Let's agree on it first, whatever happens to you in the future, I will certainly be by your side and help you." He laughed to himself, "Let's just agree on it, okay? Anyway, this is just what I'm capable of doing. So, yes?"

Kori bit her lip, smothering a smile at his ridiculous offer, but nodded cutely.

Richard grinned once more, perfect white teeth showing, but then his smile turned mischievous, and so did his eyes, "Also . . . there's one more thing I can help you with. It's . . . when you want to fool around . . ." Kori lowered her eyes, embarrassed at his suggestion.

" . . . I can contribute my body for you to use. Free of charge," he smirked and gestured his hand to his chest. He bid farewell and walked towards the door leading to the courts. As he was closing in near the exit, he heard Kori's endearing voice, "Can you . . . Can you lend me your body?"

Richard froze, then spun quickly to face her, blue eyes wide as saucers. Unfortunately, his backpack made contact with an unstable plaster statue and the stacks and piles of neat statues and easels clattered and clanged noisily to the ground. Kori flinched at the loud noise, her eyes wide as well at the destruction that he had accidentally caused.

For a few seconds, there was silence between them.

He sighed in exasperation, "What did you just say?"

She pursed her lips together, meekly saying, "I . . . I just said if you can lend me your body . . . to be my model?"

Richard stared at her, dumbfounded. Not knowing what to do at this situation, he dumbly scratched his head.

* * *

Kori entered the art studio, her eyes scanning the room to see if there were any students or teachers. Fortunately, there were none, so she was free to call Richard to come in. "You can come in now."

He chuckled, "I'm not used to sneaking around like this."

"Over here," she stopped him near the windows, where natural light can come in.

"Do I take my clothes off?" he asked, half-serious, half-joking as he took off his backpack.

"No!" she replied, slightly panicked. "You only need to take off your bag and your polo shirt." She brought a chair to where he was standing, "You can just sit here."

"How do I sit?"

"However you like."

He hung his shirt, jacket, and backpack and the back of the chair, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, he sat down, leaning lazily at the back, his legs slightly spread apart. He watched her work as she took out a new canvas and organized her easel and supplies. Feeling in the mood to tease her, he said with a naughty smirk on his face, "When I said I would lend you my body, I never thought you would waste a heavenly thing and use it for painting." He wanted to see her reaction, but it seemed that the words did not affect her. "My original intention was that the two of us went to do something happy and would make you feel very comfortable."

Silently, she sat down and sharpened her pencil. Richard decided to change the topic into a deeper one, "I heard you hate men . . . why?" She did not answer, so he interrogated further, maintaining his tone light and mild, hoping that she will answer. "It's not because you like girls, right?"

"Could you please not twist around?" she inquired quietly. "And stop talking. It's hard for me to draw with you acting like this."

He scoffed at her, "I'm not a statue like these, I'm a real person." He scanned the studio and his eyes landed on Mars, which reminded him of something he wanted to share. "Have you heard of the Mars prophecy?"

She did not answer, her mind was focused on the task at hand: drawing him.

"The prophecy says that a terrifying King will control this world and the world will be ruled by Mars . . . What kind of world do you think it would be if it were ruled by Mars?"

Kori stopped drawing, interested in his insights, "It seems that you're more inclined to believe that Mars is evil."

"It doesn't matter what I believe in. The world is all messed up anyway. It'll collapse sooner or later," he confessed his beliefs. "I also don't believe the future is going to be great. So, why don't we just come to a flashy and glorified ending? Doesn't that sound better?"

She glanced at him, then continued back to work. His head leaned against the back of the chair. He looked at the ceiling, murmuring to himself, "Why hasn't it happened yet?" He closed his eyes, "This world . . . I wonder how it's going to end."

"If the world is really destroyed, wouldn't you be devastated?" Kori questioned as she opposed and contradicted his views.

They stayed silent for a few minutes. As she drew him, she noticed his bandaged hand, in concern, she asked, "What happened to your hand?"

There was no answer.

"Hey," Kori called, no answer. "He's already fallen asleep just like that," she muttered to herself. Setting down her pencil, she stood up and went beside him, leaning down to observe his tired and sleepy face. A tiny smile lit her face as she inspected him, her head was filled with thoughts, _"He acts so crazy. And it's difficult for people to identify him."_ She raised a hand, to touch his face as it was flawless, pale, and looked soft, but as she was just centimeters away, she dropped her hand, _"But he has such a clean face, a pure face. I can't sense any trace of malice in it. In this world, there are many malicious people and you can't do anything about it. It doesn't matter how hard they try to pretend. Their malice will be revealed. Bit by bit, and it will emit a foul smell . . ."_

* * *

"Appear," Mr. Wilson wrote on the white board. "_Aparacer_. It is an intransitive verb. It's very easy, yes class?" Then in Spanish, he asked the class fluently, "Does anyone want to volunteer in front of the class to construct a sentence? Raise your hand, please."

Slade's one eye scanned the theater, his eye landed on Richard, who had his feet up at a chair in front of his and he was asleep with his mouth open. He smirked and called out, "Senior Grayson."

Gar looked at his sleeping friend and nudged him, "Dick."

Richard fluttered his eyes open, disoriented at what was happening. He stared at Gar in confusion.

"Slade wants you to go up and construct a sentence," he whispered.

Kori and Rachel turned their heads to look at him. In the need of rescue, Rachel raised her hand, "Senior Wilson, let me do it."

"Ah, do not be so quick, Miss Roth. Let us give Senior Grayson a chance," Slade grinned, a little evilly. Feeling he wanted a little payback, he taunted him, "What is the matter, Mister Grayson? You have taken this course for two years. This should not be difficult for you."

Richard stared at him coldly, then stood up and strolled his way to the board, a marker in his hand. He gripped it tightly as Slade continued to taunt him in English with a smirk, "Is it right to piss people off during class hours?"

"You woke me up," he answered roughly through dry lips. "Don't blame me."

Slade just chuckled and continued to right other intransitive verbs on the other side of the board. Richard shook his head and chuckled, he was so going to get him back. As he started constructing the sentence, the whole class erupted into gasps, conversations, grimaces, some laughter, some girls covering their mouths with a hand, Kori gasped quietly as she read his sentence, while Rachel smirked at his . . . courageousness to defy Slade.

Slade turned around, "What is it, class?" Then he faced the board, to what Richard had constructed. Richard finished his sentence and read it aloud in Spanish, "This teacher, who appears to be nice, is in reality a terrible person, who initiates sexual harassment to his female students." As he repeated the sentence again, in English this time, the class turned their eyes to Slade, who started erasing the board with his hand.

Richard walked up the stairs of the theater and spotted Kori sitting at the aisle seat, he held out his hand with a smile, "Give me five. Isn't it fun to strike back?"

She looked at his hand, then at his face. She had a smile on hers, thankful and grateful for what he did, she slapped his hand quietly.

* * *

A handsome, young man stood under a tree, beneath the shadows. He was smiling to himself, his dark blue eyes staring at the ground with his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black pants.

"Jason!" the nurse called. "Jason! It's time to come back inside!"

He turned around, giving the ground one last glance and slowly walked to his nurse.

"What were you doing over there?" the nurse asked him while giving a tender smile.

Jason smiled back and responded, "I was watching the world's most beautiful thing."

On the spot where Jason had been staring, a snake coiled itself around a defenseless rat, eating and killing it.

* * *

Jason stood in an office, staring outside the window. The sun was out and he could feel the radiating warmth on his face. The door opened, and a doctor walked in with his white coat. Dr. Light stood beside him and decided to start the conversation, "Jason," he said his name gently. "What happened? You're not wearing your uniform again," he commented on his patient.

Ever so slowly, Jason turned his head to face him, a smile on his face, "Because . . . this makes me look more normal."

Dr. Light grunted in understanding, and cleared his throat to give him news, "Dr. Meridian says you'd be released from the hospital next week. You've been here for almost two years."

"Two months short," Jason replied. "Director . . . you remember my name."

Dr. Light chuckled, "People here are always coming and going, but I remember everyone and their individual stories."

He grinned at his new discovery, "What a coincidence. I've been looking for someone to answer my question." Jason turned around and picked up a piece of paper, "I once found a drawing left by a previous patient." He opened up the rolled poster, revealing a picture drawn by a black crayon. It had a shape of a face, and its eyes were left white in shade of almonds. "Do you know who drew this, Director?"

Dr. Light smiled at the memory, "Of course I remember. He was my patient." He rolled it up and looked at Jason, "He's about your age. When he just checked into the hospital, he dared not to look at mirrors. He broke all the mirrors in the hospital."

Jason gave an odd smirk and stated lightly, "I wonder how he's doing."

* * *

Richard jogged down the stairs, heading to his bike. He was stopped as someone called his name from above. He turned around and saw Rachel smiling at him.

"You're leaving already?" she asked mildly.

"Yeah. I'm on my way to work," he replied, smiling slightly.

"Then . . . I'll go to your place tonight, okay?" Rachel suggested with a flirty look on her face.

Richard chuckled at her suggestion, "Aren't we already over?" He turned around and walked down the stairs. Thinking over her offer, he decided he needed a little fun to pull out the stress, so he looked at her again with a smirk, "Okay, then. I'll call you if I get home early."

Rachel beamed as he walked away, her chin leaning against one of her hands.

"Rachel," Tara walked beside her. "What are you doing?" Her blue eyes traveled down the stairs and saw a familiar black haired boy. "You still haven't given up?"

She smirked and replied, "Some things will never end."

* * *

Richard snugged on his helmet, clipping it underneath his chin. As he started his bike and left school grounds, Slade appeared and watched him set off with hatred and determination in his eye. He sped off the road, riding at least 40 miles per hour. He spotted a food supply truck about to cross the intersection, instinctively, he pressed on the brakes to slow down to stop. But as he pressed it, for some reason, his bike would not stop. He checked the brakes.

Someone had punched a whole to the wire.

As he was closing in on the truck, he forced the bike to slide under it, his helmet falling off and it was crushed by the truck. Now safe away from the intersection, he stared at the truck as he had just slid under it, shocked and confused as to why his brakes did not work. He could have gotten hurt, or worse . . . he could have died.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm guessing that Slade got burned?

Again, there are a few things I want to point out for those in need of clarification:

1. On the first scene of this chapter, I use the words "reversed nerve connection." I did not want to use "reversed pychology" because it is and it is not what Richard's condition is. He fears his own reflection due to the occurence of illusions and memories. I shall not spoil anything for you readers, all of this will be revealed in the next couple chapters.

2. Again, I included some characters from the show. In case some of you do not know who they are, I shall type them in order of appearance throughtout this chapter: Herald, Red Star, Madame Rouge (obviously), and Dr. Light (another obvious one).

3. I have included two other people that are not in the Teen Titans show, but they are related to the Batman universe. Some of you might possibly know who these two people are: Dr. (Chase) Meridian, a psychiatrist that appeared in Tim Burton's _Batman Forever_ (1995). She was played by Nicole Kidman. But, do not worry, she will not be a main or supporting character in the story. And then there is Jason. I am sure most of you know who he is and his last name, who I have not yet mentioned in the story but I know that you know. If some of you do not know who he is, Jason was the second Robin under Batman's wing. He was tortured and killed by the Joker, then he was resurrected. He is not a villain, per say. He is more like a vigilante and an anti-hero.

Thank you very much for reading! I would greatly appreciate reviews as I enjoy reading them. For any questions or other clarifications, please feel free to PM me. I hope you are enjoying the story so far and I shall be updating in another few days to revise the next chapter and work in progress of my summer homework. Thank you! - Mayumi Y.


	4. Chapter 4: Trust

Transcendental

A carefree, daredevil playboy with a tortured soul. A shy, traumatized artist with a past. This is a story of two broken people healing each other, overcoming the past and looking towards a brighter future.

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience readers! And once again, thank you for the reviews and criticism. I know this is a different take of Robin and Starfire, but I at least hope you are enjoying each chapter so far. Thank you to j. schofield, teentitansluver, and JewelFire3, and to those who favored and followed, I really appreciate it.

One of you asked if this is inspired by a novel called "Speak," and the answer is no, it is not. Honestly, I have never heard of the novel. - Mayumi Y.

Warning: Out of character-ness. Mild language. A tiny graphic scene with blood. Some bullying.

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, any DC Comics based materials, and Honda Civic.

* * *

Transcend(ental): to overcome or surpass something (a goal, an experience, etc.) beyond ordinary limits

Chapter 4: Trust

One of Richard's friends, a motorcycle mechanic, Ryuku Orsono, inspected the sabotaged bike. With a scowl, he commented, "Fortunately, you reacted quickly. Otherwise, you'd either be dead or half dead at the speed you were riding. Both your brake lines have been cut off. Does someone have a grudge against you?"

Richard scoffed, crossing his arms, "Too many to count."

"You better be careful," Ryuku frowned deeper, concerned for his friend. He stood up and reached to his cupboard and gave him a new helmet, "Here," he handed it to him, "You'll need it."

"Thanks, Ry."

He went back to the bike, repairing the brakes, "Do you still race?"

Richard sighed sadly and gave reasons, "Bike out of service. No money. How can I race?"

Ryuku raised an eyebrow at his money issue, "Did you fight with your dad again?"

"Yeah," Richard frowned and shook his head. "I just don't get along with him. And he keeps bugging me to quit riding motorcycles all the time."

"He's a dad, Dick," he gave a small smile. "He's just worried about you. Why don't you move back home?"

"Go home," he chuckled. "If I go home, I think I'd go crazy."

Ryuku grinned and punched Richard's arm, "But you're already crazy anyway."

He snorted and agreed, "True."

* * *

"Good morning, Mister Wilson," a group of girls greeted him as he walked through the hallway.

He had a smile on his face, "Good morning, ladies." The girls giggled and started gossiping on how hansome he looked.

There was a smug smirk on his face as he walked and was greeted by other students. Suddenly, a bare, pale arm slung over his shoulder and he felt all the blood in his body leave as he heard a voice laced in fake sweetness and honey, "Good morning, Slade." He was shoved by Richard, who still had his arm over Slade, as he conversed in a casual tone. "It seems that you have more than one side that people don't know about."

"What are you talking about?" Slade retorted, his voice a little shaky.

Richard laughed humorlessly, "Stop pretending. I almost ended up lying on a hospital bed." He brought him to a deserted hallway as classes already started, he pushed him in front of the stairs, at the edge on top. The water bottle that Slade was holding rolled down the steps. He held Slade's coat as he threatened to push him over. "Fortunately, I like thrilling and dangerous things." He leaned in closer to whisper near his ear menacingly, slightly growling, "But, Dear Mister Slade, if we're going to play, why not go all out?" He could hear him panting nervously, his chest heaving up and down.

"If it were me," Richard continued roughly. "I wouldn't leave something unfinished." He gave a hard shove, but he held on to his coat just enough to scare him. With a light, friendly pat on his back, Richard walked down the stairs.

"Oh yeah," he added as he reached the bottom. "If I remember correctly, you're driving a white Civic, right?"

The look on Slade's face was priceless.

Richard smiled and shook a taunting finger at him, "Be careful driving, Slade."

* * *

Richard had arrived late for his homeroom class and as Mr. Mod ignored him the whole time, he figured it was best to just take a nap. So he donned the hood of his black sleeveless hoodie and snored through class, while the girls ogling at his bare, muscular arms. Soon, the class ended and students were packing up their things. Suddenly, a student ran in the class room, announcing some shocking news, "Hey! You guys won't believe this! I just heard something from the administration office that Mister Wilson had just abruptly quit."

There was a flurry of conversations, gasps, and why's to this news.

Kori immediately stared at Richard, who was sleeping like a baby beside her.

* * *

Since Slade had quit teaching, a new teacher, Mr. Blood replaced him, but their class location, the theater, was still the same. Richard entered the theater with Rachel stuck on to him like a leech, "Dick, are you even listening?" He looked at the room, spotting Kori sitting on the aisle seat in the back row and Gar at the seat right in front of her. Gar was reading one of his comic book and Kori was sharpening her art pencils with a small knife.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm listening," Richard replied absently, his eyes still settled on Kori as he made his way to her.

"I heard you broke up with Rosabelle, the junior," Rachel pressed on, digging for information.

"Is that right? Why did we break up?" he mumbled back, not caring what they were talking about.

"Stop it. I mean it," she whined.

"I mean what I say too," he stated as they got nearer to the back row.

"If you don't what to say, then forget it," Rachel snorted, then changed the subject with a smile. "Hey, take me for a ride on your bike sometime."

"Uh, no," Richard answered her seriously as he made his way to his seat. "My bike gets jealous when I let girls ride on it. And then, it knocks me off the ground." As he sat down, Kori turned to her seatmate and gave a small smile before returning to her sharpening. He gladly beamed back and took out his notebook.

Rachel noticed this and narrowed her purple eyes. Feeling a little jealous, she made her way to her seat, beside Richard, and along the way, she purposely bumped her bag on Kori's back. This caused Kori to slip and cut herself as she was sharpening. "Ow," Kori quietly whimpered. This caught Gar's attention as he twisted around to see what was going on.

"Sorry," Rachel muttered and took her seat.

Richard saw this and turned to Rachel with a scowl, "Why did you do that?" He turned back to Kori, who was pressing her cut and squeezing the blood out. "You're bleeding," he observed.

"Here," he took her bleeding finger and placed it in his mouth.

Kori gaped at him, her mouth slightly open, and so did Gar and Rachel. As soon as he felt the top of his tongue, Kori pulled it out swiftly, shocked and surprised by his action. She stared at her finger, while Richard stared at her.

* * *

There was a sound of a horn and all the runners dashed through the track field. At the sidelines, Gar stretched his arms and legs, while Richard was beside him, offering to help time his run. He wore black sweatpants and a green sleeveless shirt. "By what you're doing, you've put her in a very dangerous position," Gar stated as he stretched. "Do you know that?"

"Dangerous?" Richard's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "Oh, are you referring to this?" he indicated as he gestured a finger in his mouth. "That's a habit I had since I was little."

"That's a strange habit," Gar retorted, a little angry. "It's not as if you're ugly and nobody wants you." He made his way to his track line and stretched some more, he babbled on sarcastically, "So, why do you like a simple and conservative girl who doesn't know how to take care of herself?" He sighed and warned him, "Let me tell you, if anything happens to Kori because of you, I won't get involved."

Richard stood beside him as he did his jumping jacks, crossing his arms on his chest, "Why are you so concerned about her?" As he tried to understand why Gar was being such a stiff, he realized something. Narrowing his eyes, he accused him, "Ah . . . you like Kori. Don't you?"

His green eyes popped out. "W-What are you talking about? I don't like her," Gar said, stuttering, but the blush on his face did not help prove his statement.

Richard grinned teasingly, "Yes, you do! I've suspected this for a long time. One moment you said she was weird. Next, you told me to stay away from her. What about now?"

Gar stopped jumping and faced Richard, all humor gone, "Why are you interested in Kori?"

Richard faced him, his nose inches away from Gar's, seriousness clouding his eyes, "Do you like Kori or not?"

Gar backed down, dejected as he sighed sadly, "Whether I like her or not, it doesn't matter." He bent down to a kneeling position, ready to run on the track, "Ever since high school, I've been a nobody." As soon as he said those words, he sprinted off, leaving Richard to stare at him as he ran.

* * *

The cold wind bit at her face. She felt numb. Kori's eyes were glued to the ground as Rachel stared at her menacingly. Her stare was colder than the chilly breeze.

Tara whispered in her right ear, "You've got quite an attitude lately, Anders." Then Karen whispered in her left, "Don't think you're so high and mighty just because somebody's been a little nicer to you lately."

Tara taunted further, "Do you think Dick would get serious with a girl like you?"

Kori did not say anything except hunch her back more. "Hey," Karen shoved her. "Why do you always look like that?" She hovered over her with her heels, pouting mockingly at her, "Do you think that we're bullying you?"

Tara nudged her roughly on the shoulder, sneering, "Say something."

Rachel sauntered towards her and stated frigidly, "I don't like the way you look so pitiful and miserable. Every day you hide in a corner acting pitiful. You react so slowly." She grimaced as the words formed in her mouth, "I feel sick whenever I see you." She paused and tilted her head, "You like to act pitiful, don't you?"

Despite her short height, she came face to face with a silent Kori, her hunched back making her smaller. "Today, I'll grant your wish. But I hope you'll always remember . . . never go near Dick Grayson again."

Kori whimpered as they took off her hair tie, her black coat, her gray scarf, her green sweater, and her light peach pleated skirt. The girls threw them uncaringly over the edge of the building and they either fluttered to the ground or was swept away by the wind.

* * *

Rachel walked to class with a little smirk on her face. As she sat down, Mr. Mod was writing notes for the geography afternoon class. He turned around to take attendance and was surprised to see Kori not there. "Is Miss Anders here?" Mr. Mod asked the class, a little worried. "She doesn't usually skip class."

Rachel looked at Tara and Karen, licking her lips, she answered with a smile, "Mr. Mod, she won't be coming today."

"She won't be coming?" he raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "That's strange, even Mister Logan and Mister Grayson are not here."

Rachel's head snapped up and looked at their empty seats. Mr. Mod pursed his lips, "Alright then, let's just get started. Take out your textbooks and turn to page 145."

* * *

Gar sprinted on the track, sweating, panting as he released his frustrations, stress, and thoughts.

* * *

Richard strolled on an empty hallway, opening a can of Pepsi. He made his way to the stairs, going up to the roof for a breath of fresh air and space to think. As he opened the door, he felt a strong breeze. Thankful that he had brought his red sports jacket, he raised the collar to shield the back of his neck and donned his black hood. Taking a sip of his soda, he stared at the wide college campus. As he turned his head, he noticed a redheaded girl at the corner. She had her knees bent up to her face and only had her lilac bra and panties on, nothing else. Her hair was in a mess and she hugged her knees for warmth from the cold breeze.

Richard dropped his can of soda and ran to her. Kori heard hurried footsteps and ooked up, her eyes puffed and red. Slowly, he kneeled down in front of her and whispered, "What happened?"

She sobbed, her shoulders shaking, whimpers and sniffles could be heard.

"H-How did this happen?" he asked again.

She did not look at him, her head buried in her arms.

"Was it because of me?" he whispered, getting angry at himself as each second passed by. "Who did this?"

This time, she raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, and whispered sadly in confusion, "Why do you care? It's none of your business. It's all because I'm too timid so people don't like me."

Richard immediately took off his jacket and draped it around her arms and shoulders. He then wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from shaking any further. "Where do you live? I'll take you home," he whispered softly.

She did not answer, and he knew what she was thinking of doing.

He gawked at her, "Let's go, you're still thinking about staying here?"

* * *

Kori stood awkwardly beside Richard's motorcycle. She was barefooted and wore nothing but his jacket. She noticed that she and Richard had nearly the same height of 5 feet and 10 inches, and fortunately, his jacket was big so it covered her panties.

"Here," Richard handed her his silver helmet. She did not take it.

"Don't tell me you want to go back to class," he scowled at her in disbelief. "You don't even have clothes?"

Kori looked at her bare toes and said quietly, recalling the words she heard him say to Rachel, "Didn't you say you don't let people ride your bike? . . . Especially females?"

Richard chuckled, a small smile on his face, "I've changed my mind. You're an exception." He stared at her, it seemed like the reason she did not want to get on the bike was _not_ because he said he does not let people ride it. It was for a different reason.

"Ah, that's right," he murmured, nodding his head slightly. "If you get on the bike, you'll have to be very close to me." She peeked at him as he continued, "You also have to hold me really tight. You don't like men." He felt a little disappointed, "It's okay if you don't want to, forget it."

Kori gazed at him, lifting her head and her hands slowly. A gesture saying that she would accept his help.

He smiled and handed it to her, "Make sure the helmet's fastened," he instructed gently as she climbed at the back. "Aren't you cold?" she asked as her fingers brushed against his bare arms, "And where's yours?" she asked another question as she clipped it.

"No, I'm fine, you need it more than I do, and the bike only has one helmet," he grinned, starting the bike's engine. "You'd better pray for me not to get caught . . . Are you ready?" he asked as he noticed she did not hold on to him. "Hold me tight," Richard said softly. He felt Kori's delicate fingers grip his waist and then placed her hands in the pockets of his vest. He put his hood on and drove away.

* * *

Tara looked up from her textbook as she heard noise coming outside. She snapped her head to Rachel, who sat next to her, "Rachel. Do you hear that? It sounds like Dick's motorcycle."

Rachel slammed her pen down and stalked out the classroom door. Mr. Mod stood up as he shouted after her, "Miss Roth, what are you doing?" She went out the door, ignoring him, and ran outside. She saw his bike riding away and someone was at his back. She saw the familiar red hair and his sports jacket. Angrily, she slammed her palm against the balcony railing.

* * *

Gar gasped for breath, panting as he was sprawled on his back at the middle of the track field, a silly grin on his face.

* * *

Kori thought it was kind enough for Richard to briefly drop by a cheap department store to buy her slippers and shorts. As he slowed down to a stop in front of her apartment building, she climbed off and removed the helmet. Giving it back to him, she ran her fingers through her wind swept hair.

"Thank you . . . " she said softly.

He smiled charmingly at her, "Were you scared?"

"Since I got on your bike, I could only trust you." She bit her lip, "Fear wouldn't help."

Richard laughed at her, but thanked her sincerely, "Thank you for willing to trust yourself with me."

"You like to do insincere, momentary, sweet talk," Kori stated, getting straight to the point. She thanked him again, looking down at the ground as usual, "Thank you for helping me so much. You've just rescued me. Last time, you said you'd protect me. I know you didn't mean it, but I'm still very happy about it. You're very important to me," she admitted. "Because I haven't been this close to anyone for a very long time . . .

. . . Thank you," she whispered tenderly, full of meaning and admiration. And then she quickly walked away.

"Kori," Richard ran after her, gently taking her hand. "Kori . . ."

"You!" someone shouted. Richard turned and saw an older woman that looked like Kori, except she has blue eyes. "What are you doing to my daughter?" she ran to him, protecting her daughter, and shoved a hand on his shoulder, pushing him away.

"Mother!" Kori gasped. She took her hand and begged her to understand, "Mother, stop! You've got it all wrong. He wasn't going to hurt me." She looked at Richard as she explained to her mother, "Something happened at school. He rescued me and brought me home with his bike."

Luan's eyes snapped to the silver bike. Coldness ran through her.

"This is my mother," she told Richard.

"I'm sorry," Luan apologized rather frostily. "I saw Kori looking rather sad, so I asuumed the worst . . ."

Richard smiled politely, "Don't worry about it, Miss Anders. I haven't introduced myself, I'm Richard Grayson. You can call me Dick. I'm one of Kori's classmates." He held out a hand, "Nice to meet you."

Luan hesitantly shook his hand. As she was about to draw it away, she felt Richard's other hand grasp it. He looked at it in awe and wonder.

"Wow . . . so this is what a mother's hand feels like," he murmured. "It's so warm."

Luan drew her hand back and turned to her daughter, feeling alittle uncomfortable about the boy touching her, "Kori, shall we head up?" She walked passed her. Kori made no move as she stared at Richard. "Kori," she said again, a little more sternly. "Let us go."

"Oh," Kori blushed, a little flustered. "Yes, mother."

"Wait," Richard rushed. "I . . . I just wanted to ask you what you think of Gar."

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "Hm?"

He chuckled, "What I mean is, do you think he's filthy? Or you really don't like him?"

She frowned slightly, "Why do you think this way?"

"Uh, what I mean is," he stuttered, not knowing how to put this and since her mother was staring at him, he decided to drop it. "Never mind, forget what I said."

She nodded her head and turned around to walk up the stairs with her mother. Kori headed straight to her room and closed the door lightly, locking it. She ran her fingers over the soft and smooth fabric of his jacket. Changing her clothes, she cloaked his jacket on a hanger and hung it near her window. She sat down on her bed and stared at it, with a smile on her face.

* * *

"You want me to be in races?" Richard asked Oliver in disbelief. "Are you sure about that?"

He decided to visit him at the hospital to check on the progress of his leg. As soon as Oliver met him, he started to mention about motorcycle racing. Richard continued to rant, "Ollie, I don't even have a bike. How can I compete?"

Oliver was sitting down on a bench, a pair of crutches beside him. "I'll get the bike ready," he assured Richard. "Maintenance and repairs aren't issues either. All you're responsible for is riding the bike."

He gawked at him, and Oliver sighed.

"Dick, don't you want to be a GP rider?" he asked the boy who he has considered as his son. "Then you must perform well in some international races before being qualified for GP."

Richard looked down, deep in thought.

Oliver continued his persuasion speech, hoping that the boy would not pass this opportunity and consider it, he then mentioned, "I think this time, if we're lucky, we may be able to get an original bike from a manufacturer."

He snapped his head up, his blue eyes filled with excitement. "Really?"

Pleased that he was now considering it, Oliver leaned into him, "Those manufacturers are looking for some young and promising riders to represent them in races." He grinned, "What do you think?"

Richard pursed his lips, seriously considering the fact that he could be what he always dreamed of. But, there were always doubts, "But I've been out of it for so long."

"No problem," Oliver shrugged casually. "I'll find some people and form a team. I'll be in charge of training you. How about that?" He held out his hand to Richard, ready to make a deal.

Richard looked at his hand, then beamed, grasping it firmly. "Okay."

* * *

Author's Note: I love creating a cruel Rachel. She's such a bad egg!

For every chapter, I shall list a few points for those in need of clarification:

1. Characters in the show, listed in the order of appearance through this chapter - Bushido, Brother Blood, and Pantha.

2. GP rider - a motorcyclist who competes in races.

Please feel free to message me for any questions or clarifications. Thank you very much for reading and I hope you readers are enjoying so far. I shall try to update the next chapter as soon as I can. Since I have summer homework and my senior year, I will be having slight delays, but I hope to myself that I shall update at least once a week. I greatly, so greatly, appreciate reviews and I thank you for taking the time to read and review! - Mayumi Y.


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